


To Pursue a Promise

by autumnyte



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnyte/pseuds/autumnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written as a fill for a prompt on the Dragon Age Kink Meme.</p><p>After three years apart, Hawke and Fenris have just rekindled their romance; but things get dicey when an innocent request from Hawke stirs up secrets from Fenris's past. Contains a brief reference to rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is borrowed from lyrics to the song "Promise" by Violent Femmes.

It was unusually chilly for a Hightown night. A sturdy wind whirled through the deserted streets, reverberating off the formidable buildings and high walls. By now, most of the respectable denizens were safely ensconced in their homes, cozy lights peeking from their windows as if to taunt the handful of passersby who found themselves out in the cold.

Hawke and Fenris were among the unlucky travelers. They walked together in silence, cutting through a dark alley behind The Blooming Rose.

There were any number of things they could have been discussing, especially given the events of the past week, but passing through the Red Lantern District at such a late hour wasn’t conducive to conversation. An ambush by a never-ending pack of street thugs was more likely than not, and giving away one’s presence prematurely could prove a significant disadvantage.

The two men were returning from a day spent traipsing around the Wounded Coast with Varric and Merrill. They’d been trying to locate and rescue a nobleman’s daughter, reportedly captured by bandits. After scouring the area multiple times and turning up nothing but a mute and uncooperative mercenary, they were forced to abandon the pursuit. 

Hawke was weary and frustrated from the wasted effort. The only positive thing he could say about the day was that it had started well-- _very_ well. He stole a glance at Fenris and felt a thrill of anticipation, hopeful that the night would end the same way it had begun.

He chided himself to stay focused on his surroundings, but it was useless. Hawke found himself driven to distraction, mesmerized by Fenris: the winding patterns of lyrium markings that shone silver in the moonlight and the agile movement of his sinewy form beneath tightly-fitted leather armor.

Despite the weather, Hawke’s skin prickled with heat as he allowed himself to recall, in vivid detail, all the ways in which he’d recently become intimately reacquainted with that body.

Fenris turned and met Hawke’s stare, rewarding his attention with the vaguest hint of a smile. “Shall I accompany you home?” he inquired in a low voice.

“Maker, yes,” Hawke whispered, hastening his footsteps along the stone pathway. 

They managed to arrive at Hawke’s estate without incident, much to his relief. No sooner had he closed and locked the entrance door behind him than he felt the steel of a spiky gauntlet at his shoulder, slamming him against the wall in a single, swift motion. Fenris’s verdant eyes bore into him, radiating pure hunger.

“I could think of nothing else all day,” Fenris muttered before pressing into him with a rough, urgent kiss.

Hawke responded with an appreciative groan and wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist, tugging him closer. He held Fenris tightly, some part of him still afraid to believe that this was truly, finally happening.   


	2. Chapter 2

It had been exactly one week since Danarius ambushed their party at The Hanged Man, using Fenris’s own sister as bait. Hawke could scarcely fathom the cruelty behind such a maneuver, but was gratified that the miscalculation had cost the vile Magister and his lackeys their lives.

After the incident, Hawke had forced himself to wait a few days before checking in on Fenris. He wanted to go sooner, but he knew Fenris well enough to believe that he needed space.

When he finally visited, Hawke hadn’t been sure what to expect. The way Fenris had looked at him in the immediate aftermath of Danarius’s death--there had been something intense, wistful, maybe even promising behind his eyes. But after years of bitter disappointment where Fenris was concerned, Hawke was reluctant to read too much into it. He did his best to dampen down any sparks of hope.

As it turned out, however, those sparks were not misguided. In a rare, unguarded conversation, Fenris professed long-buried feelings for Hawke and asked forgiveness for walking out after their only night together, three years prior.

“If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side,” he’d offered brightly, sincerely.

Hawke was floored, but accepted without hesitation. Three years of attempts to forget and move on had failed miserably. He still longed to be with Fenris, a fact he could no more deny than water being wet.

Their reconciliation started with a soft, tentative kiss and quickly culminated in desperate, frenetic sex up against Fenris’s wine-stained wall, and then again on his filthy, broken floor tiles.

“I want you back in my bed,” Hawke finally implored, and that was all the coaxing it had taken to get Fenris to accompany him to the estate.

The four days that followed were spent almost entirely in the privacy of Hawke’s bedchambers, the two of them locked in a sweaty tangle of passion, mutual exploration and rediscovery. They pleasured each other as many times as their bodies would allow, giving shape to fantasies that had lived only in their heads for many years, pausing just for brief intervals of sleep and sustenance.

Hawke had never been so exhausted or euphoric in his life.

Which brought them to earlier that morning, when Bodahn had slipped a small stack of correspondence under the bedroom door. Hawke flipped through the letters, and one in particular caught his attention. There was a kidnapped girl in need of rescue. Hawke couldn’t in good conscience let that wait any longer.

He and Fenris reluctantly extricated themselves from bed, then made their way to The Hanged man to meet up with Varric and Merrill. Fortunately, both were available to join them, and given the urgency of the girl’s plight, Varric didn’t even insist on the usual round of drinks before they embarked.

As they traveled, it quickly became obvious to Hawke that both Varric and Merrill had figured out exactly what his and Fenris's mutual four-day disappearance signaled.

He found himself on the receiving end of several knowing winks and innuendos from Varric, as well as an overly enthusiastic elbow nudge when Fenris bent over to gather Elfroot.

For her part, Merrill managed to be less circumspect. “I’m so happy that you two finally...you know,” she said in cheery aside to Hawke when they’d wandered ahead of the others. “You did, didn’t you? You’ve had that stupid grin on your face all day and Fenris isn’t nearly as cross as usual.”

Hawke nodded his confirmation, biting back the aforementioned stupid grin. Merrill squealed and clapped her hands together, giving Hawke a quick hug before falling back to whisper something to Varric. 

Although Hawke was a private person, he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. He knew the crew liked to gossip, but they also seemed to genuinely care about his happiness. He counted himself fortunate to have such friends.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Now that he was back in the warmth of his estate, pinned to the wall by Fenris, Hawke shook free thoughts of the past week, their friends, missing girls--anything other than the soft, wet pressure of Fenris’s lips covering his own.

Fenris dipped his tongue forcefully into Hawke’s mouth, deepening the kiss. Hawke rose to the challenge, biting and sucking Fenris’s lower lip. Some distant, rational part of his mind knew they should probably move from the entryway, but he couldn’t tear himself away.

“Ah, you’ve returned!” a familiar voice boomed nearby. “Oh, my! My apologies, messere.”

Hawke withdrew from Fenris just in time to see Bodahn vanishing from the foyer in a blur. He overheard the dwarf mutter a few words to Sandal before dragging the boy along in a hasty retreat to their quarters.

“Poor Bodahn.” Hawke laughed, a little out of breath, and leaned his head back against the wall. “He is completely unaccustomed to my doing…this sort of entertaining. I can only imagine what has been going through his head the past few days.”

“Completely unaccustomed?” Fenris inquired, the intensity of his gaze belying his casual tone. “Then, there has been no one else?”

Hawke smiled wryly. “No. Not unless you count my right hand. And occasionally my left hand. And that one time with a phallic tuber--I blame Isabela for _that_ idea. I'm either extremely pathetic or a hopeless romantic.”

Fenris fell quiet for a moment before responding. He seemed to be considering his words. “I did wonder. Three years is a long time and you are a very attractive man. I...realize I was not entitled to your fidelity. Yet, I cannot deny that this knowledge pleases me.”

“Good,” Hawke murmured, returning to the embrace and shifting his attention to Fenris’s neck. He traced his tongue along the delicate markings there, pausing to suck on a particularly sensitive spot, just below his ear. “You know how much I enjoy pleasing you.”

This elicited a low moan from Fenris, whose growing arousal Hawke could feel pressing against his thigh. Hawke continued to plant kisses along Fenris’s neck, moving up to gently nibble his ear.

“Let me show you exactly how much it pleases me,” Fenris growled, bucking his hips into Hawke.

Hawke felt lightheaded as a rush of blood shot directly to his groin. His pants were suddenly far too tight, his armor too heavy.

“Bedroom,” Hawke croaked, a suggestion that came out sounding more like a command.

Fenris nodded and they made their way upstairs, faster than a couple of angry shades.

Hawke closed his bedroom door and began to make quick work of disarming and disrobing. He tossed his daggers and gauntlets on top of the chest in the corner, then unbuckled his leather cuirass and pulled it over his head. He kicked his boots aside and peeled off his under-tunic. He’d just begun to work at his belt, when he felt Fenris’s nimble fingers close over his own.

“Allow me,” Fenris offered, his deep timbre a mix of seduction and impatience.

“ _Maker_ ,” Hawke breathed, looking up to find that Fenris had already stripped down to absolutely nothing. “How do you always manage to get undressed so quickly?”

“Motivation. I do it just to see that expression on your face,” Fenris replied.

Hawke knew he was staring, slack-jawed. Although he’d dedicated much of the past several days to memorizing every inch of Fenris, the sight was still enough to take his breath away. He allowed his eyes to dance over the tanned skin, the dark nipples, the lithe muscles, and the intricate tattoos that vined and curved perfectly along the lines of Fenris’s body.

He was gratified to find Fenris examining him just as blatantly, eyes scanning his bare torso, heavy-lidded with lust. Fenris finished unfastening Hawke’s trousers and yanked them, along with his smallclothes, to the floor.

Hawke wriggled his feet and legs free of the garments and stepped toward Fenris, threading his fingers through the elf’s thick, white locks and claiming his mouth in a kiss. 

Fenris’s hands, rough with calluses and raised brandings, begin to trace patterns against Hawke’s chest. He teased Hawke’s nipples, circling them with the tips of his thumbs until they stiffened, then pinching and rolling them between his fingers.

“Fenris,” Hawke rasped, his arousal further piqued by the awareness that Fenris had clearly taken note of exactly how he liked to be touched, “do you have _any_ idea what that is doing to me?”

“Mmm. Yes, I think I might,” Fenris whispered against Hawke’s ear, twisting his nipples hard enough to make him shiver.

“You are far too smug,” Hawke said unevenly, determined to remedy the imbalance. He licked his palm, as Fenris watched with widened eyes, then slid his arm between their bodies, wrapping his warm, wet hand around Fenris’s erection. Fenris groaned and thrust into his grip. 

Every trace of smugness vanished from his expression, replaced with wanton desire. Hawke barely stifled a whimper at seeing Fenris that way. His own cock twitched, painfully hard and aching for contact. As if able to read his thoughts, Fenris reached out and began to stroke him in tandem.

Hawke lost himself in the sensation and in the thrill of watching Fenris. Pleasure flooded through him, and he could feel it starting to build toward a climax. Fenris appeared to be approaching the edge as well, his skin flushed and his breathing heavy.

“Wait--” Hawke gasped, not wanting either of them to finish yet. “I won’t last much longer at this rate.”

“Nor I,” Fenris agreed, deliberately slowing his pace.

Hawke hesitated, unsure of exactly how to proceed. He and Fenris were still navigating this part of their intimacy. Both men were versatile in bed, though Fenris almost always preferred taking the lead. But they were still learning each other’s cues, which tended to lead to these awkward moments of transition.

Since Fenris didn’t appear to be taking the initiative at the moment, Hawke decided to ask him outright. “How should we do this?”

Fenris turned the question around. “What do you wish?”

Hawke’s mind raced with the delicious array of possibilities. His head was throbbing, greedy with need, and he somehow wanted everything all at once: to feel Fenris’s mouth wrapped around him, to have Fenris between his own lips, to be taken by Fenris, to take Fenris.

Because Fenris seemed to be in an unusually passive and compliant mood all of a sudden, Hawke decided to propose one of his more aggressive fantasies. They’d never done anything quite like it before.

“I’d like to see you on the floor, on your hands and knees,” Hawke rumbled, surprised by the feral sound of his own voice, “so I can take you from behind, hard and fast.”

The mood shifted palpably. Fenris stiffened and froze, pushing Hawke away. Hawke saw an unfamiliar expression flash across his features. Without so much as a word, Fenris moved toward his armor and began to get dressed.

“Wait, what--what are you doing?” Hawke stammered.

“I must go,” Fenris mumbled, struggling to get his armor back on.

Hawke felt his chest tighten. “Go? If this is about what I...please just forget it. We don’t have to--”

“No, it...I just cannot do this,” Fenris answered quietly, glancing away.

“Why? Is this about your memories again?” Hawke heard his voice crack with panic as he placed a hand on Fenris’s shoulder. “Please just slow down and talk to me.”

Fenris jerked away from Hawke’s touch and moved to leave the room. He opened the door and glanced back briefly, still refusing to look Hawke in the eye. “I don’t wish to talk about this. Just…allow me to leave. Do not follow. It will be better for us both.”

“Fenris, I don’t understand. Don’t do this!” Hawke shouted after him, half-warning, half-plea.

It was too late. The door slammed and Fenris was gone.

Hawke’s stomach lurched and the room got fuzzy. He somehow found his way to the bed, crumpling onto it and pressing his face into the pillow. The Maker-forsaken sheets still smelled of Fenris, and Hawke willed himself not to fall apart completely.

To make matters worse --Blight take him--he was still hard as a rock. He couldn’t possibly be less in the mood, but his groin apparently hadn’t received that message. After staring blankly into the fire for a long while, he half-heartedly reached down to attend to his persistent need. He soon gave up, when it became clear that no measure of release or comfort could be achieved.

When he closed his eyes, all he could picture, over and over again, was Fenris walking out the door. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to tell this story strictly from Hawke's POV, but the Fenris in my head was desperate for just one chapter to present his side of things. Suffice it to say, the puppy eyes won.

“Fasta vass!” Fenris cursed at the empty room, pounding his fist against the table.

He took another swig from the bottle, an Antivan red wine Donnic had brought over during his latest visit. It was apparently a favorite of Aveline’s, but Fenris found it cloyingly sweet.

No matter. He was not drinking it for the taste. He polished off the remainder and plunked the empty bottle onto the table with a violent thud.

He slumped back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Two days had passed since he’d stormed out on Hawke, and the pounding headache had not abated since. No amount of wine seemed capable of chasing the pain away.

It wasn’t just his head; Fenris was filled with such regret that even breathing hurt. Every waking moment, he tortured himself with the memory of walking out, twisting the events around like a knife in a fresh wound.

Leaving Hawke had been the worst mistake of his life, and he'd somehow managed to make it twice over. He wished more than anything he could go back and do things differently. He should have returned immediately to Hawke and told him everything.

But what exactly would he have said? That the real reason Danarius named him “Little Wolf” was because he took frequent pleasure in forcing Fenris down on his hands and knees and abusing him for his own perverse sexual gratification? That his former master would use mind control, compelling him to scream and howl like a wild animal, to beg until he had no voice left? That the magister would not let up, even when Fenris was bruised, bleeding and half-conscious at times? And that Hawke’s request, innocent though it had been, forced him to vividly relive the memory?

Fenris never told anyone about that aspect of his life as a slave, nor did he want to. For the most part, he wrote it off as an unnecessary detail. He didn’t view it much differently from the multitude of other abuses and indignities he’d suffered. It ranked no worse than having been robbed of his former life, the excruciating pain of the ritual that gave him his markings, or his guilt over the innocent people he’d been forced to kill at Danarius’s behest.

Still, he was keenly aware of the stigma associated with such acts, a greater stigma than that attached to simply being a bodyguard. He feared that if the others knew, they would treat him differently.

Isabella and Varric might not continue to joke with him so freely. Merrill would add it her litany of reasons to pity and look down upon him. Sebastian and Aveline _might_ not think less of him, but what if they did? Anders would surely find some way to hold it over his head or use it as an opportunity to divert Hawke’s affections.

And what of Hawke? Fenris couldn’t bear the thought of the man feeling sorry for him or believing him weak. What if Hawke saw him as damaged goods and never wished to touch him again? After the way Fenris had reacted the other night, he could hardly expect him to think otherwise.

He grimaced and pushed away from the table. He paced around the room, kicking over a small wooden footstool in the corner as his frustration mounted.

He wished he could think of a way to make Hawke understand what happened that night, but he wasn’t entirely sure he understood it himself. Hawke’s words had triggered a flash of Danarius, so real that it made Fenris’s skin crawl. He had felt too open, too exposed in that moment, and the intrusion of that memory clouded his judgment. His instincts hadn’t allowed him to do anything but cut off all emotions and run.

Would Hawke be willing to accept that and give him another chance? Could he convince Hawke that it wouldn’t happen again? Once he knew, perhaps Hawke would be be repulsed by the idea of touching him. But even assuming he wanted to, could Hawke still continue to treat Fenris as his equal, without holding anything back?

Fenris shook his head. He knew there was only one way to get answers to all the questions clawing at his mind. He had to swallow his fears and go speak to Hawke.

If only his feet weren’t suddenly glued to the floor. If only every muscle in his body wasn’t paralyzed.

He couldn’t do it. He simply couldn’t.

Perhaps tomorrow would be different. 


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke wondered idly if he might single-handedly deplete the whiskey supply in Kirkwall. He was certainly giving it a valiant effort.

He drained his glass of the last few remaining drops before flinging it into the fireplace, relishing the sound as it smashed into tiny pieces.

He’d become a maudlin drunk, something he attributed to Fenris’s influence.

 _Fenris._

It had been four days since he walked out, and Hawke still hadn’t seen or heard from him. It seemed that he had truly broken things off again, though Hawke couldn’t figure out why.

 _Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you_ , Fenris had said. His voice, those words, haunted Hawke. It couldn’t have all been a cruel lie.

He inhaled sharply. Chasing unconsciousness suddenly seemed like an excellent idea, and he rummaged frantically through his study for another bottle of whiskey.

There was none to be found, and Bodahn and Sandal had already departed for the market.

Left to his own devices, Hawke soon found himself at The Hanged Man. He stumbled into the familiar tavern, plastering on a cordial ‘Champion of Kirkwall’ facade and navigating a dizzying wave of greetings and pats on the back before seating himself at an empty stool at the bar.

He greeted Corff with a nod and a bottoms-up gesture. A mug of cheap whiskey was quickly in front of him, and Hawke couldn’t guzzle down the wretched stuff fast enough.

“Keep it coming,” he called, tossing extra coin onto the bar. 

He heard someone sit next to him just as he caught a whiff of familiar scent: fresh jasmine tinged with a hint of the sea.

“Isabela,” Hawke turned to face his friend, forcing a weak smile.

“Poor Hawke,” Isabela offered sympathetically. She helped herself to a sip of his whiskey. “Boy trouble?”

Hawke shrugged, yielding his entire drink to her and motioning for Corff to bring another.

“Problems with Fenris, I’d wager. Want to tell me about it?” she asked, placing a gentle hand on his thigh.

He didn’t really want to talk, but Isabela was a surprisingly good listener, even when she was fishing for juicy gossip. He could hear slurred words fall from his own lips in spite of himself.

“Fenris left me…again. No idea why. He...he wouldn’t even talk to me. Things were going fine between us...better than fine. Bloody fantastic, really. One minute, there we were… kissing and naked and...” Hawke trailed off.

“Oh, my,” Isabela purred, shifting to the edge of her stool, “don’t stop there, sweetness.”

Hawke cleared his throat. He couldn’t believe he was actually telling her all of this. “Then I asked him to…I mean, I just suggested that we...it was nothing depraved. It wasn’t even that much different from other things we’ve done. And believe me, Fenris is far from a prude. But for some reason he went completely cold and insisted we had to end things…then he walked out.”

She sighed, and Hawke couldn’t tell if she felt badly for him or disappointed that the story wasn’t more salacious. But he looked up and saw genuine concern in her expression. “You have to go talk to him. Don’t let him off the hook this time. Confront him and demand that he tell you what’s going on!”

“No,” Hawke replied, firmly, “I can’t. He told me not to.”

“It isn’t like you to let such a trivial detail stand in your way,” Isabela scoffed.

Hawke took another swallow of whiskey. “It’s just…how can I be with someone who would rather walk out the door than talk to me whenever things get tough? I can’t always be the one chasing after him, pining away like an idiot, can I? It hurts too much.”

Isabela squeezed his leg. “Face it, Hawke. You _like_ a challenge. If you didn’t, you would never be with Fenris in the first place.”

Hawke considered her words and had to admit, even in his state of inebriation, that they had some merit. “You may be right.”

“Of course I’m right. Listen, if you wanted easy, you could’ve had me,” Isabela teased. “Or Anders. That mage has been itching to get into your pants for years.” 

Hawke felt a blush creep across his cheeks. He’d suspected on more than a few occasions that Anders might feel that way, but it was uncomfortable to hear someone else acknowledge it. “Anders is a dear friend and he has enough problems without adding ‘lover who’s hopelessly in love with someone else’ to the list.”

Hawke clapped a hand to his mouth as soon as he realized what he’d said. He had never admitted before, to himself or anyone else, that he was in love with Fenris.

If Isabela noticed his slip, or the significance of it, she didn’t let on. Instead, she finished off her drink and said, “Don’t give up so easily. Fenris is worth it.”

He smiled at her again, genuinely this time. “You know, you’re a good friend.”

“I’m a good many things.” She winked and kissed him on the cheek. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find Varric, Merrill, and Aveline right away. I just remembered I have something really important to discuss with them.” 


	6. Chapter 6

The walk back to Hightown sobered up Hawke considerably. In fact, now that he found himself standing outside of Fenris’s mansion, he wished that a little more of the liquid courage had remained in his system.

After an internal debate and several minutes of pacing back and forth, Hawke decided to let himself in. He didn’t want to give Fenris the chance to turn him away before he could confront him face-to-face. He made his way cautiously to the upstairs sitting room where he found the elf, hunched over his rickety wooden table and fondling a bottle of wine.

“Fenris,” Hawke called from the doorway, not wanting to startle him.

“Hawke?” Fenris lifted his head slowly, regarding him with surprise. “I…I did not think you would come.”

“After you ordered me not to, you mean?” Hawke blustered, though he could feel his anger dissipating, even as he spat out the words. “I refuse to just sit by this time. I want to know what happened. Why did you leave? After everything you said, after all we’ve been through. I think you owe me at least that much.”

Fenris stood and moved toward Hawke, closing the gap between them. He extended his hand and lightly caressed Hawke’s cheek, looking up at him sadly. “I owe you much more than that.”

Hawke faltered, dazed. This was not the confrontation he’d been braced for. He wondered if he might still be intoxicated after all.

Fenris sighed and sat in a nearby chair, gesturing for Hawke to fill the seat next to him. “This is...difficult. How can I possibly ask your forgiveness, yet again? I do not deserve it. I know I behaved like a fool. I shouldn’t have run from the situation. It was never my intention to hurt you, but that does nothing to excuse it.”

Hawke sank down into the chair, not quite comprehending, his mind swimming with questions. “Are you saying that you want us to be together after all?”

“I never truly wanted us to be apart,” Fenris answered.

Hawke twisted in his seat and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand any of this. If that is how you felt, why haven’t you spoken to me? Why must I always be the one to come to you?”

“A fair question,” Fenris conceded, focusing on the floor and fidgeting nervously. “One I don’t have a good answer for. I should have come to you. I wanted to. This morning, I managed to get as far as your front door before turning back like a coward. I can offer no excuse, except to say that such discussions do not come easily for me.”

Hawke couldn’t help relenting. It felt pointless to chastise Fenris when he was doing such a thorough job of it himself. “If you’re looking for my forgiveness, you have it. I still need to understand what happened, but whatever is going on, I want us to work it out.”

Fenris let out a long, heavy breath before he spoke again. “I have told you stories about my life as a slave, but there are...certain elements I have not spoken of. You know that I was Danarius’s body guard and his pet. What I have never told you--never told anyone--is that he made me his... _pet_ in every imaginable sense.”

As the implication behind what Fenris was saying began to sink in, Hawke struggled to contain an overwhelming surge of rage toward Danarius. He clenched his fists tightly and willed his features to remain impassive, not wanting to deter Fenris from continuing.

Fenris seemed to be searching Hawke’s eyes for something, but he went on, “That particular humiliation was part of the reason Danarius named me as he did, his ‘Little Wolf’. He took great joy in forcing me to my hands and knees in order to torture and degrade me. He would use magic to compel me to howl like an animal, until my voice was raw, while he brutally took his pleasure...from behind.”

“ _Maker_.” Hawke buried his head in his hands, the full, sickening realization washing over him. The things he’d asked Fenris to do--how could he not have guessed? He felt like the most clueless, insensitive lout in all of Thedas.

“Hawke, don’t.” Fenris was standing over him now, a hand on his shoulder.

“I am so sorry--” Hawke began.

“Don’t!” Fenris interrupted angrily, grabbing Hawke roughly, lifting him to his feet and looking him squarely in the eye. “I don’t want your pity. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Hawke responded, taken aback. “Though I _do_ feel sorry that you suffered through something so horrific. I can’t help it. I wish I could have torn that soulless bastard apart, limb from limb with my bare hands. I also feel awful that my own words hurt you. I hope you know that I’d never intentionally do or say anything to harm you. But none of that is remotely the same as pity.”

Fenris was still glaring and had not loosened his hold. “Does this change things between us, then? Can you ever...will you be able to think of me as you did before?”

Understanding slowly began to dawn on Hawke. “Is this the reason you’ve refused to talk to me? Were you worried that my knowing about this would change things between us?”

“Yes,” Fenris confessed. “Now, answer the question.”

Hawke furrowed his brow. As miserable as he’d been the past few days, it was even more painful to see the anguish Fenris had been putting himself through. He wanted nothing more than to comfort and reassure him. “It doesn’t change how I feel. Not at all.”

“Swear it,” Fenris demanded, his breath hot against Hawke’s neck. “Swear to me that you aren’t going to hold back, that this won’t change the way you treat me, the way you touch me.”

Hawke cupped Fenris’s face between his hands and kissed him fiercely, sealing the promise with a clash of lips, tongues and teeth. When he pulled back, he stared into the elf’s glistening eyes and confirmed it with a whisper, “I swear.”

At last, Fenris’s expression softened and his stance relaxed. After a pause, he asked tentatively, “Have we settled things between us, then?”

“Yes, I think so,” Hawke said, allowing a playful lilt to creep back into his tone. “Although, come to think of it, there is still one unresolved issue. A rather _large_ one at that.” 

“Is there?” Fenris quirked an eyebrow.

“The other night, you managed to get me worked up into quite a state. I have found myself wound tightly and unable to obtain relief ever since,” Hawke said.

“I assume you have attempted to take matters into your own hands?” Fenris asked coyly.

“Utterly useless,” Hawke muttered, skating his fingertips along the swath of bare skin on Fenris’s arm. “It seems I’ve been spoiled for anything but your touch.”

Fenris’s thin lips curved upward and he moved a hand to Hawke’s belt. “Allow me to resolve the issue for you, then.”

“Please, yes...but not here, not just yet.” After several days of having eschewed any manner of personal hygiene whatsoever, Hawke was concerned that Fenris not end up gagging his way through the encounter. 

“You wish to wait?” Fenris sounded incredulous.

Hawke couldn’t quite believe it himself, but especially after the torment of recent days, he wanted this to be good for both of them. “Only until I can get myself cleaned up. I’m filthier than a mabari chew toy. I haven’t so much as washed behind my ears or changed my smallclothes in days.”

“Yes, well...that had not escaped my attention,” Fenris said dryly. “You also reek of a distillery.”

“I suppose that makes us even, since you smell like the inside of a wine barrel. Albeit, a very sexy wine barrel.” Hawke gave Fenris’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Meet me at my estate in an hour or two.”

Fenris sighed. “Very well, then. I’ll see you later.” 

Hawke placed a kiss on his forehead before dashing home with all due haste.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke had only just returned from his bath when Fenris arrived, gliding into the bedroom as if on a mission. Wordlessly, he began to undress, demonstrating his usual efficiency.

“Hello to you, too.” Hawke said with amusement, leaning against the curtained bedpost.

Fenris continued apace and was soon standing before him, completely naked and in such proximity that Hawke could detect a note of the clove and citrus scented oil the elf favored. The aroma of stale wine had vanished entirely. Hawke was pleased that he hadn’t been the only one to clean up.

“That grin on your face is mildly infuriating and you’re wearing far too many clothes,” Fenris grumbled.

“Both legitimate complaints. At least…I smell nice?” Hawke offered, allowing his eyes to drift downward. Fenris was visibly hard and Hawke himself was still fully aroused from the elaborate fantasies he had been entertaining during his bath.

Fenris dropped swiftly to his knees and began to unfasten the front of Hawke’s robe. “I don’t wish to wait any longer. I must taste you.”

“ _Yes_ \--” was all Hawke could choke out as he slipped off his trousers and steadied himself against the bedpost.

Fenris wasted no time. He teased Hawke’s erection--kissing it, flickering his tongue maddeningly along the tip and under the shaft--before taking all of it deep into his mouth. Hawke grunted in gratitude.

Fenris grabbed his hips, pinning him, and Hawke took the hint, avoiding the temptation to thrust. He knew Fenris enjoyed controlling the pace and had no problem letting him, not when it felt like this.

“So good,” Hawke moaned, clutching fistfuls of Fenris’s hair and yielding completely to the warm, wet suction. Fenris built to a steady rhythm, taking Hawke in even deeper, tongue twirling and licking, lips gliding deftly up and down his shaft.

White heat thrummed through Hawke. He heard harsh, guttural sounds escaping involuntarily from his own throat and knew he wouldn’t last; he needed this too badly. Fenris swallowed around his cock, and the sensation was enough to send him reeling over the edge.

“Fenris--” he cried out, ecstasy shuddering through his entire body as he pulsed into Fenris’s mouth. Fenris drank him down eagerly, not letting up until Hawke had ridden out every last wave of pleasure.

Hawke glanced dazedly down, watching as Fenris pulled off slowly, licked the corners of his mouth, then rose shakily to his feet. The elf looked beautifully debauched: moist lips red and swollen, white hair a tousled mess, green eyes alight with desire.

“You’re incredible,” Hawke murmured reverently before drawing Fenris into a kiss, tasting himself on his lover’s tongue.

His hand traveled down to Fenris’s neglected erection. He ran his thumb over the tip, rubbing gentle circles through a sticky bead of arousal at the slit before wrapping his fingers around the shaft and fondling it lightly. Fenris jerked at the contact, his skin flashing electric blue for an instant. He groaned and dug his fingernails into Hawke’s shoulders. 

“Is this all right?” Hawke asked. The lyrium in Fenris’s markings could be triggered by extremes--surprise, anger, pain or pleasure. Hawke wanted to make absolutely certain it was the latter.

“Yes, it’s just… _venhedis_...I’m already close.” Fenris’s voice was low and husky.

“Do you want my mouth, my body?” Hawke asked, trailing kisses along his neck and collarbone. “I’ll give you anything.”

“Just keep touching me,” Fenris urged. “I shall take you up on the rest of that offer later.”

“You’d better.” Hawke smiled at the promise. Not wanting to make Fenris wait any longer, he began moving his fist in earnest, twisting and stroking in a learned rhythm.

Fenris’s breathing turned jagged and his entire body shook. Hawke watched in rapt fascination as a glow emanated from the markings again, brighter this time, illuminating them both in a shock of blue.

He worked his hand faster and Fenris’s eyes flew open, locking on his gaze with a look of pure bliss. Fenris whispered Hawke’s name as climax rippled through him, his release spilling hot and thick over Hawke’s hand. Hawke lifted his fingers and lapped up every drop, savoring the salty tang, while Fenris watched him through hazy eyes.

“Well, we almost made it to the bed. That ought to count for something.” Hawke chuckled.

Fenris ducked his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I did not intend to finish so quickly.”

Hawke smoothed a hand through Fenris’s wildly mussed hair, tucking a wayward strand of ivory behind his ear. “Don’t apologize for something so wonderful. I didn’t have a prayer of lasting either, not with that tongue trick of yours.”

“I must remember that, then.” Fenris smirked, moving his arms lower and encircling Hawke’s waist, pressing their bodies together. “Such noises you made. It was...I nearly came undone before you even touched me.”

Hawke gave Fenris a slow, tender kiss. Beginning to crave the warmth of blankets and the comfort of pillows, he pulled back and asked, “Will you lie with me for a while?”

“All night, if you would have me stay,” Fenris replied.

 _I would have you stay forever_ , Hawke wanted to say, but didn’t.

“Of course,” he said, taking Fenris’s hand and guiding him to the bed. “You promised to take me up on a certain offer later and I’m going to hold you to it.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Hawke relaxed beneath the heat of his lover’s body, nestling closer, their legs intertwined under the covers. Fenris’s head rested against Hawke’s chest and his hand against Hawke’s heart. His silken, platinum locks tickled the underside of Hawke’s chin.

Hawke ghosted his fingers over the markings on Fenris’s back, and was rewarded with a contented sigh. He followed the raised swirls and lines as they led down to the base of Fenris’s spine then curved around and back up again to the nape of his neck.

“I missed holding you,” Hawke said, after a while. “I worried I might never get the chance again.”

“The past few days...the absence of your touch has been unbearable,” Fenris mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“Promise me you won’t ever just leave like that again. I think…a third time might break me.” Hawke hated the trembling of his own voice, but found himself needing to say the words anyway.

Fenris lifted his head and looked up at Hawke, his eyes solemn and sincere. “I won’t abandon you again for anything. You have my word.”

Hawke let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He hugged Fenris closer, burying a kiss in his hair.

Fenris shifted in response. He inched up Hawke’s torso, dropping wet, open-mouthed kisses along his shoulders, neck and jaw. Hawke arched into the sensation, goose bumps starting to form on his skin as he let his hands wander over Fenris’s body, grabbing and caressing every inch of bare flesh he could reach.

He stared up at Fenris, whose face was hovering just above his own, hungry and predatory. He feathered his thumb across Fenris’s lower lip, invoking a soundless whimper. The next instant, he felt Fenris’s warm mouth consuming his own.

They kissed for a while, fervently but not hurriedly, fingers laced through each other’s hair, enjoying the pressure of lips and tongues, their bodies curled together.

Eventually, Fenris moved to straddle Hawke’s thighs, never breaking contact with his mouth. Hawke moaned as Fenris ground into him, rubbing their erections together.

Fenris whispered, “Does your previous offer still stand?”

“Yes. You can have anything,” Hawke replied.

Fenris gazed at him for a long moment. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“You want...I mean...is that...are you certain?” Hawke spluttered, wondering if he’d misheard. A vision of Danarius entered his mind, unbidden, but he forced it aside. He’d sworn an oath to Fenris, and it was a pledge he intended to keep.

“Yes, I’m certain,” Fenris said, punctuating his response with a slight thrust of his hips.

Hawke’s heart raced with expectation. That particular pleasure was something he’d only experienced twice before, since Fenris typically preferred things the other way around. It had happened once during their very first night together. The second time had been--Hawke’s groin twitched as he recalled it--immediately after their recent reunion. He’d taken Fenris up against his Aggregio-dotted wall.

“I am definitely...up for it,” Hawke said suggestively, moving to roll Fenris onto his back. But Fenris halted him, capturing his wrists and pinning them back against the mattress, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You must indulge me a bit further,” Fenris insisted with a gravelly undertone. “Remain on your back. I enjoy having you writhing beneath me.”

Hawke swallowed thickly and nodded, his heightened arousal rendering him at a loss for words. Rather than objecting to Fenris’s need for control, even in this, he found it quite exciting. 

He watched eagerly as Fenris reached between the mattress and headboard, producing a small cruet of oil they’d previously pilfered from the pantry and stashed there. Fenris poured a bit into his hand before replacing the stopper and tossing it on the bed. He warmed the oil between his palms and applied it to Hawke’s erection, rubbing and squeezing almost methodically from base to tip.

Hawke groaned and bucked against the slick grip, longing for much more, his skin crawling with want. “ _Need_ you.”

“You shall have me soon,” Fenris murmured. “Give me your touch first.”

Hawke understood what Fenris wanted and was quick to oblige. He picked up the small bottle and drizzled some oil onto his own fingers, then reached both hands around, cupping Fenris’s buttocks and spreading them. He took great care, massaging and teasing the puckered hole with his fingertip before cautiously working a slippery digit inside.

Despite the gentle treatment, Fenris sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.

“Should I stop?” Hawke asked, ignoring the selfish voice in the back of his mind that was screaming about how good it would feel to be surrounded by him .

“No,” Fenris answered quickly, “it is fine.”

Hawke pushed his finger a bit deeper and crooked it, angling for the spot that he hoped would make Fenris feel significantly better than “fine”. His other hand moved to stroke Fenris’s cock.

He smiled with satisfaction when his finger hit just right and Fenris threw his head back, gasping then letting out a low growl. Hawke slipped in a second finger with ease, then a third, plunging them in and out as Fenris squirmed above him.

“Let...let me ride you,” Fenris whispered hoarsely.

“Sweet Andraste, _yes_. Do it now,” Hawke rasped, withdrawing his fingers and falling back against the bed.

Fenris repositioned, placing one palm against Hawke’s chest for balance and lowering himself slowly, using his other hand to guide Hawke inside.

Tight, ecstatic heat surrounded Hawke. He fisted the sheets and bit his lip so hard that he could taste blood. The sensation of Fenris around him was exquisite, and he wanted desperately to feel more, to be deeper. He cried out when Fenris sank the rest of the way down, taking all of him inside.

Fenris stilled, seeming to need a moment to adjust. Hawke took the opportunity to drink in the image of Fenris astride him. He was panting, skin gleaming with sweat, eyes half-shut and fixed on Hawke in an expression of euphoria. It was almost overwhelming, being inside Fenris, seeing him this way. He felt infinitely grateful to be allowed so close.

“Maker, you’re perfect,” Hawke said in awe, feeling foolishly sentimental but meaning every word.

“ _Hawke_ ,” Fenris breathed in reply, and began moving against him, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm.

Hawke let out a loud moan. Unable to hold back any longer, he grabbed Fenris’s taut hips and began thrusting into him, matching the tempo of his movements. Fenris groaned and started grinding against him harder and faster.

Hawke shifted until he discovered an angle that hit the right spot, one that made Fenris gasp, then he sped up the pace again.

Fenris’s eyes fluttered shut and he dragged his nails down Hawke’s chest. He kept repeating Hawke’s name in a muted tone, over and over, as if it were a verse from the Chant of Light.

Hawke could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. An electric tingle was buzzing and undulating through his every nerve. He lost all ability to control his speech and began to babble loudly, shouting a nonsensical string of curses and obscenities. 

He managed to channel his last remaining shred of mental focus toward Fenris, whose swollen, flushed arousal was rubbing insistently against his stomach. Hawke gripped him tightly and jerked in time with his thrusts.

Fenris went incandescent, arching back, his muscles clenched. A few additional strokes were all it took to bring him shuddering over the precipice, hushed sounds of bliss falling from his lips, creamy ribbons of white pulsing over Hawke’s stomach and chest.

Hawke’s final thread of control snapped the instant Fenris convulsed around him. One more thrust and he gave himself over completely, screaming Fenris’s name as the pleasure erupted and pumped through him.

After the last of their tremors subsided, Fenris moved off Hawke and collapsed beside him. Hawke used a cloth from his nightstand to clean them both up, then lay back and folded Fenris into his arms.

Fenris shifted and nuzzled Hawke’s neck before settling into his embrace. Hawke heard the elf start to chuckle, hearty and deep enough that he could feel the vibrations.

“For the sake of my pride, I hope that isn’t a reflection on my performance,” Hawke said.

“Far from it. I was just thinking that for someone with such a distinguished title, you have a shockingly filthy mouth,” Fenris replied.

“Come now, it's not that bad,” Hawke said in mock-protest.

“Did you hear yourself a moment ago? You seem to have picked up some colorful Arcanum phrases from me. I believe I detected a few Orlesian obscenities in your tirade as well. I wasn’t even aware you spoke Orlesian.” Fenris chuckled anew.

Hawke couldn’t help laughing with him. “Orlesian? Really? I’ve never spoken a word of it in my life. Apparently you have the power to make me instantly learn foreign tongues. The naughty bits, anyway. You should take it as a compliment.”

“I suppose I should. Still, I think the people of Kirkwall would be appalled to hear their Champion speak in such a manner,” Fenris teased.

“I imagine they’d be more scandalized to know that I’m madly in love with another man who happens to be an elf and a former slave. I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t care,” Hawke said, without thinking.

As soon as he realized what he’d admitted, he cringed and cursed himself. He did love Fenris, deeply, but he hadn’t intended to speak those actual words to him. Not yet, and certainly not in the same clumsy breath with a reference to his former slavery.

Fenris remained silent. He wasn’t yelling or getting up out of bed or even noticeably wincing, all of which Hawke took as a good sign.

A moment later, Fenris actually snuggled closer, caressing Hawke’s shoulder and planting tiny kisses along his neck. Hawke melted into the touch with a small sigh of relief.

Although he would have been pleased with some sort of reciprocal declaration from Fenris, Hawke didn’t expect or require it. The fact that Fenris was willing to remain at his side--that he’d promised not to leave again--said more than enough.

Relaxing into his pillow, Hawke realized just how tired he was. He closed his eyes and decided to succumb to the exhaustion. Fenris’s breathing sounded steady and peaceful, like he might be falling asleep too. He trailed his hand along Fenris's back, resting it there as slumber began to overtake him.

The last thing Hawke heard before he drifted off was a very faint whisper against his ear. “I am yours.”

 

\--End--


End file.
